Hey Arnold: The Hunger Games
by oOoIZZYoOo
Summary: Helga has been chosen as the first tribute for the Hunger Games, and through a stroke of bad luck, her district partner turns out to be the same blonde haired boy she's loved for fourteen years. With determination to keep him alive, the games turn out to be ever so not in her favor. :Does not follow Katniss' plot, so no spoilers or need to have read the triology:
1. The Reaping

HA: Hunger Games

Reaping Day

_Helga_

The sun was startlingly bright for such a dark day. I remember thinking that it was odd for the sunlight to be waking me up, for my father usually did that far before it had the chance. Chores wouldn't wait he'd remark, taking my hand and pulling me out of my covers. But today, I'd slept in far beyond noon, that's when I knew that it was the day of reaping. I suppose normal people know when it's coming far before it actually arrives but we don't really have much of a need for calendars here; the routine is daily and never changing. We know when the spring comes for that's when the flowers bloom, and winter is when they freeze back over. Anything in-between is just that.

For once I am thankful for this aspect of our life, the thought of going into that bloodied arena would have driven me crazy- now at least I don't have time to worry. Only time to act. Even though I want nothing more than to sleep in this bed until the day is over I know it is not acceptable. The peacekeepers will be here soon, knocking at our door to check and make sure everyone is present for the assembly. I close my eyes, fighting back any feelings that threaten to pop up.

I manage to trudge my feet off of the bed and onto the floor. Six times I've gone through this, and six times I've managed to avoid my name being called from that hideous bowl onstage. My parents were fairly wealthy by this town's standards, so we never had a reason to buy tessarae's, a portion of food that you could use in exchange for your name to be added again. However, each time this day came around her parents always became deceptively kind.

That's why I always knew when the day came- I was allowed to sleep in, there was hot food by my bedside, a clean and beautiful dress was laid out across my dresser. It was like a horrifying holiday.

Perhaps they thought it was inevitable for my name to eventually be called- I know I did. My father, Bob, was the winner of the 26th Hunger games, at only the age of sixteen he was the first victor ever to be announced from our district. He was quite the talk of the capitol at the time- and now…now his daughter had just turned eighteen- the shining example that even if you escape the games- you can never escape the games.

Just like they did with her…

I choke a little as I think about it, the way that the mine blew her to pieces for the whole world to see; the way that her blonde hair was scorching, her blue eyes dimmed and dead to the world; the way that when she tried to call for help her mouth only gagged out blood…

She sat there for ten minutes, limbless, as the blood gushed out of her body and into the arena. No one tried to help her…no one rushed in to give her aid.

But why would they…? This was the games after all.

I think everyone in our family knows that it will be my name to be called today, whether it's because it's a set up, or it's just good television, we can all feel it in the chill of our bones. But I still get up, I still manage to dump the flavorless food down my throat, I still move my soft pink dress over my shoulders and head down the stairs.

As I expected I have slept through most of the day, my family is already getting ready to leave. I suppose they didn't have the heart to come and wake me. I am almost thankful, but then I remember I've bottled away all of my emotions for the moment, and it passes. Taking in a soft breath I calmly move down the last step and make my presence known.

My mother quickly turns on her heel, her sad eyes glued onto mine. I can see the utter terror and agony hidden behind them, but she merely smiles and walks towards me, her arms open and caring. I walk toward them, slowly, as to not show how much I actually want her to hold me. She smiles and holds me into her chest, her head resting against my own with the utmost delicacy.

"You look beautiful sweetheart." She whispers.

At least she's sober…

"Thank you." I answer calmly. When she lets me go I walk to my father, waiting for him to make the first move. He does not give me his arms, or a kiss, but I can see on his face that he wants to. Perhaps he's just pretending like me- pretending like this is any other day, and that nothing bad is going to happen. There was no need for hugging and kissing on normal days. He pats my shoulder and nudges us toward the door.

Somehow, this gives me more comfort than my mother's embrace.

"We'd better go…the ceremony starts in a few minutes." He answers in that usual low voice. I can see my mother flinch but I try to ignore it. I shrug, stretching out my arms as if the thought isn't utterly terrifying. With a small twist of my neck I pop my joints, letting out a loud and rather obnoxious yawn.

"Well then we'd better get this over with, we have trinkets to fix, right dad?" I ask boastfully. He's already at my side as we head down the square. He nods, going along with my façade.

"We'd have most of them fixed if you didn't' sleep in so long." He jokes under his breath. I smile even though I'm not really happy. After the games, with the ability to buy anything he could dream of, my father had chosen to settle back down in his home district- 12, and bring some of the capitols technology to the lower class citizens.

Nothing too substantial of course, nothing that could actually help us live prosperously here, nothing that could diminish the capitols hand on our daily lives, but just enough to give us a bit more comfort than we normally receive. Showers, irrigation systems, safer tools and technology for our miners, and when one broke- they brought it to my father. He was humble about that kind of thing but he was actually rather brilliant when it came to gears and knobs.

It was people he had a problem with…

Generally I was the exception, I understood how he worked, his little ticks and the signs for me to leave him alone. When I was younger I hated him, he was always somewhere other than here, with his eyes glazed and his hands clasped to the bottle. When he whispered her name instead of mine I nearly lost it—

But I understand now, the same hair, the same eyes- the horrifying way she was taken from us- in such a drunken stupor, raged on by the unfairness of it all, even I must have looked a lot like her…he must have wished with all his might that it really was her…he must have convinced himself that she was in fact still alive…and though it tore me to bits to know that he wasn't actually seeing me, I'm glad it was able to give him some sort of comfort.

My mother was never sober after that, it's a hard thing to process normally, let alone with another little reminder in the house. It was only on reaping days that she forced herself to go through the withdrawal and keep a clear head. Perhaps this was for my sake, I don't know- I just found myself wishing for a drink as well.

When I showed interest in fixing up the old clocks and trinkets around town my father and I's relationship completely changed. He couldn't exactly explain the intricate nature of the technology to me drunk so he sobered up- I suppose he wanted to make sure that even if he passed on the district would have someone to take his place.

That's how it started anyways.

The more time we spent together the less he called me by her name and the more he called me by my own. She was never interested in these types of things, she was sweet, and kind, and a healer whose hands were far too soft for grease and dirt. I on the other hand constantly talked back and gave him hell, all the while digging myself into the oil encrusted automobiles we kept in back.

It was hard for his delusion to be demised, but I think he knows it was for the best.

"They'll want me onstage soon. Can you two find your way alright?" Bob ask, shooting a glance at my mother. She nods, her hands finding my shoulders. They exchange one last look before he turns away and walks toward the stage. My mother suddenly grips my shoulders with a tight intensity and turns me to face her. She opens her mouth, desperately trying to say something, but the moment my eyes lock within hers she stops.

"…I-…" She fumbles to find them, I can see the tears building up, and I can't take it, I merely squeeze her hand before nodding.

"I know." I whisper. She sighs delicately, a breath of relief leaving her. It's time now, time for me to leave, and my mother thankfully understands and let's go of my shoulders without another word. Many of the children are crying around me or shaking in fear, it's all I can do not to join them. I want to tell all of the girls, to quiet their cries, that there is no need for their shaking- they won't be chosen this year. I play the scene in my head over a million times, trying to determine how I'll react, what I'll do, how I might die.

A flutter of hope enters my head as I reason that since they've already made an example of my sister, perhaps I won't be needed. I try so hard to bury that little bit of hope in my mind, but it spreads like wildfire, making me crazy. There was no need for two daughters to be killed right? No one probably even remembers my dad anymore; it's been nearly twenty four years after all. There are plenty of other tributes with children ripe for reaping, ones more interesting and more tragic then myself.

I feel horrible for thinking it, but in retrospect I'm fairly boring compared to the others.

I cry for my mind to stop thinking it but it continues, catching onto every little reason it can think of.

Why would they purposefully choose me for the games? There was no reason for it, they would want fresh faces in the arena, fresh stories to choose from.

I'm making my way through the crowd now as the ludicrous thoughts in my mind continue.

Maybe they even have another girl already prepared- maybe they-

I'm thankfully interrupted by a small hand on top of mine. My body twitches and my eyes quickly dart down to whoever it is that is touching me. I have to stop myself from yelling as a small girl with jet black hair, gives me a weak smile and makes her way to my side.

Phoebe.

I sigh in relief and nearly fall into her comforting shoulders. I don't see any camera's on the crowd yet and the crook of her neck is very comfortable. I didn't realize how much keeping my composure had drained my body. She smiles and gently pats my back, no words passing between us just yet. I take in as much of her warmth as I can before quickly pulling away, a deep breath passing between my lips. Her hand slowly finds mine and I squeeze it in reassurance.

I'm sure that she wants to cry, but I hope that she doesn't.

I don't want to see tears running down those sweet cheeks.

"If I'm chosen-" I start, Phoebe quickly sends me a glare and shakes her head. "-you won't."

I sigh heavily, I know that she's trying to help but I want nothing more than to not even have a sliver of a doubt that it will be me walking up to that stage. With no hope comes no disappointment. I close my eyes and continue, cutting her off this time as she tries to shush me.

"IF I'm chosen, I don't want you to try to take my place." I answer under my breath. She stutters but I continue.

"You're that kind of person, you'll do anything for someone that you love, and I don't want you to even think about stepping up to that stage if it's my name that gets called." I answer harsher this time. Phoebe looks down at the ground, her navy blue eyes filling with tears. She bites her lip however and nods, keeping them back.

"Fine…but the same goes for you…" She whimpers. I only nod, happy that she thinks of me so highly. Would I rush to take her place if her name was taken from the bowl? Realistically I'd like to say yes, Phoebe is so small and kind, she wouldn't last a day in the arena. I however have a rather large build and much more of a tolerance for pain and killing- of the two I'm probably the one who could get out alive.

But I'm also human.

I'm afraid….

And I don't want to die.

I decide to settle on yes, because it makes me feel better and because I'm sure I'll never actually have to deal with the scenario. In my thoughts I barely register the sound of the anthem blaring throughout our small city square. Phoebe's hand squeezing harshly against my own is the only thing that brings me back to the present moment. I look up at the stand, my eyes falling onto my father as he sits and waits for his cue. The mayor is making some speech in front of the cameras but no one is listening. I look down at my feet and start to count the pebbles.

1…2…3…

"Unfortunately our usual announce is sick at the moment and is resting offstage, she will of course be waiting for our tributes once they are ready to board the train to the capitol, but for now will our hunger games past winner please step forward to choose the tributes."

That sentence takes me out of my counting. Why would they want my father to be the one to choose the tributes? I lick my lips in anxiety and that voice of reason tries to calm me. They just said that the announcer was sick; it's obvious this 'honor' would fall to the game winner right? It's obvious that her father is thinking the same thing as he pushes himself out of the chair and toward the clear bowl, filled with thousands of young girl's names. Everyone is holding their breath but I know better.

He reaches his large hands down into the endless strips and I can feel that bit of hope diminishing, that small flicker of possibility being blanketed by reality. Phoebe is looking up at me now and I don't even care that the color has drained from my face. For the moment that he unfolds the paper and opens his lips, I know that it's over.

"Helga Pataki." He calls out, his voice even and undisturbed.

I suddenly wish he had hugged me this morning.

The camera shoots to me and I know they're looking for a reaction, but I give them none. I step forward, allowing them to follow me as I move my way through the crowd. They almost fall away from my body, their eyes full of horror and sadness. Many of them I'd known from school, but they will not step up for me now. My legs are shaking as I climb the steps and I blame it on fatigue. My father takes my hand though and steadies me, pulling me to the stage.

I thank all there is to thank that my mother does not scream. They move me toward the girl's bowl as my father presses over to the men's. My head is going fifty miles an hour but I try to hold my ground, I don't even register that someone else has been picked until the terrible shrieking of their mother threatens to undo me.

I look out in the crowd and see two peacekeepers holding her back as she screams with all her might, reaching for her son as he shakily makes his way toward the stage. I recognize him, Andrew Kokoshka, from the old boarding house; he's such a young boy though, only just twelve. I can already see the tears in his eyes as he sniffles and makes his way toward the stage, trying so desperately to appear strong.

The tributes will eat him up alive…

I want to throw my hands over my ears to keep the woman's screams out, to make her stop crying and fighting to reach her son; I close my eyes and take in deep breaths before something rattles me to my core. The crowd has gone silent and someone's heavier footsteps are making their way to the stage. I open an eye just in time to hear his voice ring throughout the town.

"I will take his place!"

And though I can't see him, I know exactly who the voice belongs to, and without meaning to, my throat lets out a whimper.


	2. The Offering

HA: Hunger Games

Offering

_Helga_

No…please no…anything but this…anyone but him.

I closed my eyes as tight as I could, willing the boy away, but his heavy footsteps continued to step closer and closer to me. I know that the camera's are watching but I can't help but fall apart, anyone else, anyone else and I could have killed them in my sleep if it meant living- anyone else but him. My father comes up from behind me and pinches my stomach, making my eyes shoot open, I cast an angry glance at him but he motions towards the camera crew who seem very interested in my pain. I know that he's right and that I need to toughen up, but I just-

I wasn't expecting this.

I would have never expected Arnold Shortman, the man that I had been in love with for fourteen years, to possibly volunteer himself for the games. Of course I had been worried each time they went to pull the boys name out of the bowl, but year after year, after his name was not called, I allowed myself to relax; he hadn't volunteered any year before so why would I expect him to now? He didn't even know the kid personally; they just lived in the same building together!

But one look at that sobbing child's face and I know exactly why…

Because Arnold was one of those people, those few, honest good people who would actually lie down their lives for others, simply because they believed it was the right thing to do. I'd seen him do this far too many times to count, a majority of them being for me.

Arnold had always been different, that much anyone could see. Whether it was because of the clarity in his eyes, or the softness to his voice, one look at the man and you knew you'd just caught sight of something beautiful. Since we were in the same grade together our entire schooling had been done in the same classroom.

Maybe it was because at such a young age he didn't know about the games, or their victors, or maybe it was because even at five he had already learned to be the better person- I couldn't say either way- but when everyone else had avoided me to and kept to their groups, he had constantly made an effort to befriend me.

Even at five I knew the rules of the world, my father had etched them into my head night after night, programming me to think the worst of people as early as possible. Rule number one: never trust a smile.

So why did I?

Why was his the only smile that I felt was actually genuine?

He burrowed his place into my heart that day and I could never really successfully get him out. I had tried on multiple occasions of course, I pushed and mocked him, I hit and berated everything that he did. I suppose in my own childish way I hoped if I did this enough, I could convince even myself that he was not as superb as everyone felt he could be.

But once I thought I had succeeded, once I thought I'd finally made him an idiot in my mind, he would do something just so overly incredible to pull me back in- to remind me that he was special, and that I was special because he cared about me.

The entire district seemed to be in shambles as he took his place next to me.

At least I wasn't the only one distressed.

Arnold was chillingly calm as the children and adults all suddenly cried out for him, asked him to stop, to come back down. Their voices didn't reach him however, as he stood tall and proud beside me. Only I could see the faint shaking of his hand and I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from breaking. I wanted so badly to tell him not to be scared, that it was all going to be alright-

But I knew that it wouldn't.

The mayor watched Arnold sadly before slowly stepping back up to the microphone. He cleared his throat, coughing a bit before looking back out to the disturbed crowd.

"…does anyone else wish to volunteer…?" He asked lowly. At first the crowd was silent, murmuring between themselves. Then- a small flicker. A strong voice called out, stepping forward. Arnold's eyes flashed in fear as Gerald made his way to the front of the stage. He stopped at the steps and waited. Suddenly two more voices cried out and rushed toward the stage, Stinky and Harold I could feel my breathing becoming heavier as we watched all of the boys from our school rushing forward to take his place. Even the Kokoshka boy had moved forward, those tears long gone from his baby eyes.

The mayor seemed beside himself as he flipped through the rule book, it had been such a long time since we had multiple volunteers that I was sure he didn't know what to do with this crowd of eager boys.

"What are they doing…?" Arnold whispered under his breath, the statement meant for no one else but him. I straightened my back, swallowing hard as I looked at all of them, all willing to die for the man who now stood on the stage.

The one who they were sure would perish if they did not take his place.

I could feel my father's eyes upon me so I turned to watch him; he nudged his head ever so slightly toward the boy's shaking fingertips. I twisted my face, a bit confused by this before suddenly realizing what it was he wanted me to do. Not bothering to question it I slipped my fingers into Arnold's, relishing in the sweet silkiness of his skin. He jumped, looking down at his hand before letting out a shaky breath. He quickly grabbed onto me, facing the crowd once again.

My father smiles and I know that I've done what he's wanted.

"Well Arnold, it seems since you were the first volunteer to step forward it's your choice. Do you want to step down and give the tribute title to one of these boys?" The mayor asked curiously. The whole cities heart seemed to sink together as the words go through the stadium. Before Arnold could answer Gerald moved closer, ignoring the peacekeepers as they try to keep him back.

"Don't be stupid." He whispers, his voice shaking as he pushes against their arms. "Don't be stupid, just let us go."

Arnold was practically bruising my fingers as he put all of his emotions into squeezing my hand. I don't complain though and merely move what little I can to stroke the skin of his arm.

_It's alright_, I try to tell him, _just let them take your place. You've got a job to do here, there's no need for you to go to the games._

But if he understands my signals he doesn't listen to them. I watch as the strength returns to his eyes, that do or die determination that I had learned to love so long ago starts to flare up, and I know that he has made up his mind. Now I wished more than anything he would just be a coward- but I know him far too well for that.

I can see that if he speaks he will waver so instead he just shakes his head.

Everyone groans, but there is nothing that can be done. Gerald falls in the peacekeepers arms, his body quickly becoming limp. I can see Phoebe rushing over to him, pleading for the peacekeepers to just let him go. Arnold quickly looks down at the stage and wordlessly wipes at his eyes, I squeeze his hand again and he stops.

"…very well then…" the mayor whispered. I bite my lip to keep back another whimper as the anthem starts to play theatrically, signaling the end of the day. The crowd watches us in a pitied earnest as we are rushed off of the stage and towards the justice hall. Arnold keeps a tight grip onto me even as we are dragged down the shimmering halls towards our temporary rooms. When we finally arrive where I am to say my goodbyes he has practically kept himself glued to my fingertips. I can see the anger in the peacekeepers eyes igniting as he repeats for Arnold to come with him.

I squeeze his hand softly before giving him a gentle whisper.

"It's ok…we'll see each other on the train. It'll just be a few minutes." I sooth. He slowly nods and allows his fingers to fall from mine. My heart beats harsher as the peacekeeper grabs onto his arm and drags him to the other room, but I have no time to worry for I'm being pushed into my own with the same intensity.

The door locks behind me and I know from my father's stories that I'll only have a few minutes of peace before the visitors start to pour in. So I take this time to sit on the red leather couch and cry, not just a few tears here and there, but a waterfall. The sobs escape so quickly that I didn't even realize how much I had been holding back. I'm hiccupping and rubbing at my nose to keep it from dripping, but after a few moments I realize it's hopeless and curl up, allowing this moment of pure weakness to play out its course.

After ten minutes or so of this my head is becoming dizzy and tired. I hadn't cried like this in some time and it leaves me feeling weak and disheveled. I shakily sit up, my hands reaching for a box of tissues that the guard's have left me. I blow my nose into them, wiping up the tears on my face and erasing any sign that it has transpired. I've finished just in time as the door is opened up and my mother and father walk inside.

I sit upright, my fingers clinging onto my dress as they both sit across from me. I can smell the alcohol emitting off of my mother, but this time I don't hold it against her. She suddenly cries out, as if holding it in just as long as I have, and clumsily falls across the table and into my arms. I hold onto her, giving her soothing reassurances as I slowly rub her back. My father sits stoic as always, his mind deep in thought. I wish he would just say something- offer out his hand, his touch- anything. I wish he would tell me why he wanted me to hold Arnold's hand.

"You've got quite a line forming out there." He finally whispers.

This genuinely surprises me. I can feel my face twisting in confusion as I send a glance towards the closed marble door. Phoebe I could understand, my parents were hopefully a given- but who else would want to say goodbye to me? Perhaps some school friends who pity me or feel guilty, but I don't have any other friends outside of the school, no one who would even know my face if they saw it on the projector.

"What do they want?" I finally ask, unable to figure it out.

"My guess is they want to talk to you about the boy." He finally whispers. I don't quite follow so he continues.

"The boy is a martyr for this town Helga, he's kind and sweet and been through too many tragedies to name. He's the opposite of you." He stated. Helga wanted to oppose this, but she knew that it was true. Arnold was the best thing to ever happen to her, she guessed to a lot of people. He was far too wise for his age and always did the right thing if the opportunity presented itself. But he was also a survivor, he was still able to live even when he shared his small food rations, he was still happy even after viewing his parents untimely demise, and he still smiled even when all of us felt like crying.

He'd touched everyone here-

And me?

Well, I was just the girl who sat next to him in school.

"They want you to die." Bob stated quickly. I shot up my head, catching his eyes as my mother suddenly hugged me tighter. She whimpered, smoothing down my hair before shaking her head.

"N-no, they couldn't just ask a little girl to go and die like that…could they…?" She whispered softly. Bob shook his head, leaning back into the couch before putting his feet up on the table. I was still so shell-shocked I didn't even notice the warm tears pouring off of my mother and onto my shoulder.

"Not in so many words no…I've heard some of the crowd talking, the consensus is that Arnold will most defiantly die in the games on his own. Nobody wants that. But you…" Bob raised a brow before leaning forward.

"You actually have a shot…you're strong, brute, you've got experience in hunting and killing." Bob explained lowly. I start to nod, thumb rubbing softly against my hand as a small effort to comfort the harsh pain in my heart.

"So they want me to help Arnold through the games into the finals." I softly whisper. Bob nods and puts his hand on top of my leg. I jump but he does not remove it. He moves his other hand to my chin, tipping it up until I'm eye level with him. He's so calm and steady that I can't help but be as well.

"I want you to understand right now that no one wants you to die." Bob whispered. I slowly nod into his hand.

"…they just don't want me to kill Arnold." I finish. He nods and pulls back.

"The problem comes if you actually do manage to keep him alive- then what? That's what they're going to have trouble asking you to do." Bob whispered. I slowly nod, glad to have gotten the shock out of the way before anyone else came in to visit. I suppose I understand it, if I had a choice between someone like myself and Arnold I would do anything in my power to get that person to help him-

Even if it meant asking them to die when the time finally came.

"Well…" I start, scrunching up my dress into bunches. "…I've been prepared to die for a long time now."

I look up at my father, ignoring my mother's plea's as she sobs, shaking my body. He lets out a sigh and nods, standing up and off of the couch.

"I thought you might say that…" He whispered. I watched as he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a small gift wrapped in a simple white cloth. He placed it into my lap before grabbing onto my mother's shoulders to pull her away.

I open up the cloth to reveal a beautiful golden heart shaped locket underneath. I hold it into the light, letting it flicker in my hands as I slowly click it open. Inside it is empty- at least…to the untrained eye. I look up at him in confusion, wondering what he has hidden inside, but he doesn't tell me.

Not yet, his eyes seem to say.

My mother screams out harshly, rambling out words I don't quite understand. I let go of her hand and give her a gentle smile.

"…you'll have to help me." I finally whisper to him. Without looking he only gives a slight nod, and I know that he too, is crying.

"You're monsters! You're all monsters!" My mother hisses out as she leaves the door, the line of people now crushed with guilty looks. I walk over to the door and stare out at the hundreds upon hundreds of citizens lined out before me. They knew that not all of them could get in right? That my time was limited?

I suppose, even knowing that, they had all come to make their case.

"…there's no need for the theatrics." I announce and the hall goes quiet.

"I know what you want…" I make sure that even with these hundreds of people they all have to meet my eye. I make sure they know exactly who it is they're sending away to their death, and once I have, I lower my arms and whisper-

"…and I accept."


	3. The Train Ride

HA: Hunger Games

The Train Ride

_Arnold_

_You're going to be ok. _

That's all anyone said when they came to visit. I just nodded, playing along, not sure if they actually meant the words or if they were just trying to comfort me. Of course I wasn't going to be ok…I was going to the games. I knew what was ahead of me, I knew that in all likeliness I was going to die- and I was alright with that. If me dying meant that a child could live even just another year I could die peacefully. There was no family for me back home, no one to bury my body if I was to be sent home. Perhaps for a few months my closer friends would cry- but it would be nothing of the hurt a mother felt watching her child march into death's waiting hands.

I found myself thinking of when they took Ruth away; when she'd made it to the final four, her eyes dead inside; when they replayed her stabbing over and over again on the television. She was such a beautiful girl, with long hair and far away eyes. Of course I didn't know her very well but at that age even the small amount of interaction we did have led me to have a crush on her. She would give me an odd smile every now and then when we were at school.

I adored her and her odd smile.

But that was before she was chosen.

The was before the games ruined her. In a matter of weeks Bob had turned that young doe eyed girl into a feral animal, willing to do anything to survive. Grandpa never let me watch when she killed but by the number of times I had to avoid my eyes, I knew she had done it many times within the games. I watched at night as she lay freezing in that snowy tundra, rocking back and forth as she wailed- and I cried with her.

I wanted nothing more than for it to be over for her- and I had gotten my wish, for that night she was killed in her frozen like sleep. I was very young at the time and my grandfather had tried to avert my eyes, but I had seen it- I had seen the way her blood splattered against the white snow, the way that she heaved and gasped in sickening breaths, her hands flailing for some sort of relief. I was hushed into the other room, but it was a long two hours until the gong signaled her demise.

At such a young age I had finally understood what the games were; and in turn what it was my parents had died for. Now, I too, would die for that same cause.

I just wish it didn't have to be with her.

I thought the worst thing about being a tribute would be the ever looming threat of death…but I couldn't have been more wrong. The worst thing about being a tribute was standing beside someone who you knew- someone who you had held, someone who you cared about. Helga Pataki was of course a pain in my side most of the time, she was rude and abrasive and didn't have a kind bone in her body…but she was still my friend. I knew right away that I would never be able to take her life- or anyone else's for that matter- but I couldn't help but pray that someone else took me out before she had to…

I hoped to all hopes that I left the arena before she did…and that I wouldn't be the one abandoning her corpse to the copter in a half-hearted attempt to survive.

I had hardly even noticed that the door holding me prisoner was now unlocked, allowing the floor of peacekeepers to grab onto my arm. I go willingly, ignoring the sharp pain of their fingertips bruising into my skin. As I'm dragged away I can see all of the people still waiting outside my door, they reach out and touch my hand, their eyes all saying the same thing-

_You're going to be ok…_

A cold sweat breaks down my back…

Why?

Of course that's what people are supposed to tell you when you get chosen for the games- it'll be ok, once you get back we'll have a big celebration, kind words- fake words. So why did all of these people believe it so honestly…?

I see the guards leading Helga out of her room, I shake off the guards hands, rushing forward to her. Though no one else can see it I notice the redness in her eyes and I know that she's been crying. She sends a glance back at me before forcing a smile. She holds out her hand for me again which I gladly take- childhood bully or not her hands give me the strength to move forward.

They always had.

"I told you I'd be back football head." She whispered. I nod lowly, feeling her fingers press into my skin. The train is waiting to take us away at the station. I look behind me, taking in all of the faces that had come to say goodbye. I suddenly feel myself hoping that they'll miss me as much as I will miss them.

I allow myself that one selfish wish before stepping aboard the train and closing the door on them forever.

Helga's father, Bob, is already waiting for us with his arms crossed impatiently. Helga does not drop my hand as I expect her to; he slowly walks over to us, his cold eyes taking in every detail of my body. He holds up my free arm, examining my chest and legs before groaning.

"You're skinny, but you have potential…we'll have to get you into private training as soon as possible…if we fatten you up and then burn it into muscle you might actually be able to handle the starvation for a few days." He sends a glance toward Helga who coiled back a bit.

"Helga and I have discussed what strategy she wishes to follow, and she's requested to form an alliance with you until the finals." Bob stated simply. I looked to Helga quickly who had a gentle pink tinting her cheeks. Her fingers slowly left my own and I found myself wishing they wouldn't.

"Of course you can say no…" Bob answered taking my silence as an insult. "But I'll be the first to say you probably won't last long…"

"No no! I mean, yes, I want to…I guess I'm just a little surprised is all." I answer quickly, looking back at her. She avoids my gaze, those bright blue orbs glued to the carpeted floor as if at any moment it might start taking shape. The puzzle pieces start to float together, but I can't ask her with her father around- she won't answer honestly. He's talking in the background saying something that I'm sure is important, but I don't listen, I'm just staring at the blonde haired girl beside me, trying to figure her out.

Over the years I'd learned a few things about Helga, the first was that she was an angry soul…something not quite so uncommon here. A lot of people are mad, secretly of course, unhappy with the life that they've been given. They're sick of watching children being killed on their television screens, sick of the meager allowances of food they're allowed to feed their starving children, angry of watching countless fathers and sons be worked to the bone down in the mines-

But Helga was angry for a different reason…at first I suspected she might have been born with it- like she came out of the womb with that dirty outlook upon life and legendary scowl upon her face. Time of course taught me differently. Helga was the second child of one of the game victors, a seat usually looked upon with great envy, that was, until they placed her sister in the games…

Until they saw just how badly the capitol wanted to punish him…

Until her dead eyes broadcast over the large screen in the town's square…

That was the day I saw Helga…I mean really saw her. We had been in an awkward relationship ever since preschool, my mother and father had taught me to be kind to anyone that I met, and keeping true to that promise I pursued her, trying time after time to corral her into my optimistic view. It had turned into a game really, would today be the day she finally admitted that we were friends? Thinking of her as some sort of objective made it easier to tolerate the emotional beatings she continually threw upon me, like it was some sort of challenge that I just had to unravel to get my prize.

But the day we were walking home, the day Olga died, I realized that she was no puzzle…she was just a little girl.

A little girl whose sister had just been killed in front of millions of people…

I was sure she'd forgotten about me when they played it- when her eyes finally caught the screen, her jaw had dropped in the slightest way and her eyes fell from this world. She dropped her books onto the ground and two tears started to stream down her small cheeks. She suddenly made a bolt for the screen, as if trying to run toward her sister's screaming in an attempt to help her.

She was screaming her sister's name and running with such might I couldn't help but think that maybe she too thought she was in the games, that if she ran fast enough she could save her, but as she reached the town center, her sister's eyes closed, and my puzzle fell apart.

The smell of food brought me out of my thoughts; I hadn't realized how hungry I was before. We had been spending so much time in the justice hall I didn't have the train of thought to even notice the growling of my stomach. Helga seemed to be thinking the same thing as she held her stomach in embarrassment. Bob looked behind him at the array of dishes being laid out for the two of us, with a heavy sigh he moved out of our way.

"This conversation isn't over, we still need to talk about the other tributes…" he reminded before giving us a nod of dismissal. Helga and I bolted for the table, scaring the waiters as they quickly moved out of our way, one reached over, perfecting a bowl's lopsided placement on the table before pulling out or chairs. I attempted to hold back just how hungry I was by slowly placing the food onto my plate, pretending that I actually cared about what it was I was eating- one knowing look from Helga told me this was unnecessary and I dug in as I liked.

"Why do you think he wants to talk about the other tributes?" I suddenly asked once I had swallowed the first few mouthfuls. Helga looked up from her plate giving me her attention so I continued.

"It just seems to early to be talking strategy….right? I mean we haven't even seen more than two seconds of them…what is there to talk about?" I asked softly under my breath. Helga pondered this for a moment with me, but as they stacked yet another pile of sweet smelling foods in front of us she seemed to lose interest.

"I don't know, maybe he just wants to tell us to look out for the big ones or something…" Helga mumbled, dismissing the idea as she reached for the candied yams. I was thinking too much and losing my appetite, I placed my fork down, leaning back into the chair. Helga raised a brow at me, gently kicking my leg.

"Hey, fill up Arnoldo, you've hardly eaten anything. Did you already forget part one of the plan?" She answered. I shook my head, feeling the depression setting back in again.

"There's no point Helga, you know that…I'm not going to be the victor- I'm not even sure I want to…" I whispered lowly to her. Winning meant killing, it was as simple as that, and I wasn't about to let them change me…change me into a killer.

I could sense that Helga was becoming upset by the way her shoulders curved into her body, her hands became tense and her face still- it was the sign she was sad but she didn't want to show it…so very subtle, so very like her.

"Rule number one going into the games Arnold: find a reason to win." She stated simply. I blinked for a moment, my eyes already traveling back to her. Find a reason to win? How was I supposed to find a reason when winning meant she was dead? I twinged at that, feeling a surge of fear and hate and sadness run up my spine at the same time. What if…what if she did die…? Could he really just sit back and let the people who did that to her sit on the lap of luxury, rewarded for their horrifying actions…?

No…no of course I couldn't…

But could I kill them for it…?

I decide to save that question for later. For now, I would do what I thought was right in the arena, and if Helga should be caught in the middle of it- well then…I'd have my reason to win. Trying to remember Bob's advise I pushed the anxiety to the back of my head and followed her lead.

We weren't the smallest children in the district by any means, Helga and I had both been fairly well fed over our youth and had grown up with strong bones and muscles, many of the children died before they could see their names placed into the games because of lack of food….so really we were lucky….

But this by no means made us healthy. I had seen children from the capitol before, from the wealthier districts, their cheeks were never hollow nor were their ribs ever so present you could see them sticking out from underneath their clothes. So although I had filled my hunger I stuffed my stomach to its brink for the children back home whose eyes would close tonight dreaming of something to fill their empty bones.

I would become healthy like those capitol children, and bring back food for their hollow faces.

At least, that's what I managed to tell myself.

It was only a few minutes before I knew that I wouldn't be able to keep anything else down if I tried so I waited patiently as Helga finished the rest of her meal. The t.v. inside of our cart had been playing the entire time, although neither of us had noticed it. I only caught small glances of it as they replayed the tributes from reaping day. District one…a large man with a bulging chest and long hair…district two, a small man with an eerily distinct smile as his name was called…

I watched, almost feeling a bit bored; what was so interesting about these people that Bob wanted to talk to us about?

Bob walked into the cabin just as district 11 was about to be announced, his eyes widened as he suddenly jumped to the t.v, turning it off in a flash.

But it was too late…

I had already seen…

I had already seen the replica of me, standing side my side with a sobbing girl in green.

And suddenly, I knew why Bob had wanted to talk to us first…


End file.
